The Treasures of Suleiman

By K. M. Ashman

In this conspiracy thriller, a special investigator and a librarian go in search of treasure, uncovering a mystery with global historical consequences.  Incomparable riches, like none other in history, are close to being revealed . . .
 
An email from a dead man, and an encrypted letter from the sixteenth century both hint at a treasure trail, leading back to the greatest Sultan of the Ottoman Empire.
 
India Summers and Brandon Walker team up to attempt to locate the greatest treasure the world has ever seen, closely followed by a family of assassins.
 
What they discover is a story of tragedy, adventure and intrigue, and one that would deny the entire world’s perception of recorded history.
 
A jaw-dropping conspiracy thriller filled with action and suspense, ideal for fans of Chris Kuzneski, Steve Berry and Scott Mariani.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Open Road Integrated Media
• Release date: Nov 21, 2019
• ISBN: 9781788637572

K. M. Ashman

Kevin Ashman is the author of eighteen novels, including the bestselling Roman Chronicles and highly ranked Medieval Sagas. Always pushing the boundaries, he found further success with the India Sommers Mysteries, as well as three other standalone projects, Vampire, Savage Eden and the dystopian horror story The Last Citadel. Kevin was born and raised in Wales and now writes full-time. He is married with four grown children and enjoys cycling, swimming and watching rugby. Current works include the Blood of Kings series: A Land Divided, A Wounded Realm and Rebellion’s Forge. Links to all Kevin’s books can be found at www.KMAshman.com.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Turkey 1554

Topkapi Palace

Muhiddin lay shivering in the dark, his eyes staring into the nothingness as he contemplated his last day on earth. The straw mattress was little insulation from the slabbed floor of the cell, yet compared to the searing heat that would follow from the dawning Aegean sun, the cold was almost welcome to the old man’s ninety-year-old bones. Beyond the cell door, the sultan’s dungeons were stirring into life and already the whimpers of those condemned to die seeped along the bloodstained corridors, adding to the prayers of the devout as they paid tribute to their various gods for the last time.

Footsteps echoed down the passage and Muhiddin counted the slams of wood on stone as the daily rations were slid through the floor-level hatches. He was number twenty and when the slams reached eighteen he rose quickly to place his empty jug just inside the door. He might be condemned to die but it was pointless going to the executioner thirsty.

He knew the drill well. As soon as the jailers reached the door they would raise the hatch and the prisoner would slide out the empty clay bowl and pot. In return, they would receive a full jug of water and, if they were lucky, a bowl of whatever food had been discarded from the sultan’s kitchens. Not that it was food fit for a sultan, oh no, the leftovers went through the ranks of the rest of the palace hierarchy long before any reached the prisoners.

First the courtiers took their pick, then the servants, followed by the dungeon guards. Any scraps of meat remaining were extracted for the dogs before what little was left was boiled into a foul-smelling soup, a bowl of which was all each prisoner could expect during the long solitary hours.

The slams reached nineteen and Muhiddin bent, anticipating the lifting of the hatch. He had to be quick as the impatient guards would not wait and any prisoner not having their wits about them often missed the meagre allowance and had to wait a day before the opportunity came again. The footsteps reached his door and though he could hear the muffled voices of the guards outside, the hatch remained closed. Instead, the footsteps carried on and he listened in confusion to the slam of hatch number twenty-one. He stood up and sighed deeply. Many years ago, he probably would have kicked up a fuss and demanded to know the reason he was being denied the simplest of human needs, even if it meant a beating, but at ninety years of age he was tired and knew that protestation was useless. They probably thought that giving condemned man a bowl of soup was a waste of time. He returned to his corner and laid down on the urine-stained mattress.

‘Not much longer,’ he thought, ‘and this will all be over.’

---

Elmira entered the palace of Suleiman the Magnificent though the wooden side entrance used by soldiers and minor officials. The main Imperial Gate was only opened for state visitors, mounted palace guards or when the sultan ventured out into the city. A courtier was waiting for her and diligently checked the basket for anything untoward.

‘Follow me,’ he said when he was satisfied.

Not many people had ever been inside the palace walls and Elmira looked around in wonder at the extraordinary layout, forgetting for a moment the tragic task she was undertaking. Compared to the sprawling mess of the city outside, this was exactly how Elmira envisaged heaven to be. Avenues of trees stretched away toward the inner walls bordering manicured lawns and gravel pathways. Beds of exotic flowers paraded their breathtaking colours while peacocks strutted between the many fountains that shot skyward from deep, clear pools.

Elmira stopped, gazing in awe at the inner palace further up the hill. Though the Tower of Justice could be seen from miles away outside the city, the actual palace of the sultan could not be seen by the commoners and the twin octagonal towers framing the Gates of Salutation took her breath away.

‘Are we going up there?’ asked Elmira, more in hope than expectation.

The courtier followed her gaze.

‘The glory of the sultan is not for the likes of you,’ he said. ‘Your path lies this way.’ He turned to follow a gravelled path along the inside of the wall and entered a guard house built into the wall itself.

‘So, this is the one,’ said a burly guard rising from his chair. ‘About time, empty your basket.’

‘I have already checked,’ said the courtier.

‘Then I will check again,’ snapped the guard and turned the basket over onto the table.

Elmira watched as the guard rummaged through the contents.

‘I’ll take these,’ he said, removing a haunch of cooked lamb and a jug of white wine, ‘it would be pointless wasting them on a dead man.’

Elmira turned to the courtier, her eyes pleading.

‘Please, is it not enough that my grandfather dies today? Please, do not deny him his last meal.’

The courtier turned to the guard.

‘Replace the goods,’ he said. ‘Immediately!’

‘On whose orders?’ the guard sneered. ‘I am in command here and answer only to the vizier, certainly not some jumped-up arse wiper from the palace.’

Despite the guard’s overwhelming size, the courtier took a step toward him.

‘On the orders of the sultan himself,’ he said. ‘Do not forget that Piri Reis served him faithfully for many years and became his closest advisor. Even though the admiral is now condemned, the sultan has given this girl direct permission to say her goodbyes and hear his last words. Now, if you want me to tell the sultan that you decided to interfere with one of his direct commands, I will gladly do so. I care not either way, but my head feels rather good where it is and I will certainly not be blamed for this.’

‘You have the ear of Suleiman?’ asked the soldier, a little less confidently.

‘I have an audience this very afternoon,’ said the courtier, ‘and to be honest, I really don’t need this irritation.’

The soldier stared at the courtier before throwing the lamb back into the basket.

‘Take care at night, arse wiper,’ the soldier sneered, ‘for if our paths meet outside these walls, I may not be so accommodating.’

‘Thank you,’ said Elmira, and quickly repacked the basket as the soldier unlocked a door at the back of the room. He stood to one side, leering as she passed.

‘One hour,’ he snapped, ‘no more!’

The courtier and Elmira descended a stone stairway and into a dark tunnel lit by oil-filled lamps. At the bottom a skinny man dressed in only a loincloth sat on a stool, his own legs tethered together by leg irons.

‘We are here to see the admiral,’ said the courtier, his nose wrinkling from the stench of the dungeon.

The trustee didn’t answer but stood up to shuffle down the corridor. He stopped outside a cell, lifting the bunch of keys from around his neck to open the solid door. Elmira hesitated before stepping inside, followed by the courtier.

The cell was no more than ten paces square and stank of human filth. The thick granite walls were inscribed with messages from the countless previous inhabitants and the only light shone down from a small slit window high above in the outer wall. An old man stood in the circle of light, his back toward them and his face turned upward to the sun.

‘Grandfather?’ said Elmira.

The man shuffled around and faced the pretty young woman.

‘Elmira,’ he smiled, ‘how wonderful to see you again.’

She stepped forward and kissed him on the cheek.

‘I have brought you some things,’ she said. ‘Some meat, wine and a jar of honey. I have even put in a clean robe. I thought you might like them before…’ She stopped mid-sentence, unable to form the dreaded words.

Muhiddin smiled at her.

‘I am most grateful,’ he said. ‘Not just for the food but the chance to see your smile once more.’

She turned to the courtier.

‘This is… I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘I don’t know your name.

‘Pasha,’ interrupted Muhiddin, ‘his name is Pasha.’

The courtier stepped forward and held out his hand.

‘Good to see you, old friend,’ he said.

‘You too, Pasha,’ said Muhiddin, and Elmira looked on as the men embraced as if they were long-lost brothers.

The two men sat on the edge of the mattress while Elmira sat cross-legged on the floor. Muhiddin broke the lamb off the bone and offered it around.

‘Please,’ he said, ‘do me the honour of sharing my last meal.’

Elmira and Pasha took a share and they ate in silence, as was their custom. Finally Muhiddin spoke again.

‘Tell me, Pasha,’ he said, ‘how is your father?’

‘His bones ache, Muhiddin,’ he said, ‘but his heart is still strong.’

‘There are many years left in him yet,’ said Muhiddin.

‘If he gets anywhere near your age,’ said Pasha, ‘then he will consider himself a lucky man.’

‘We have been through a lot, your father and I,’ said Muhiddin ‘and I have no right to have lived this long.’

‘I cannot argue there,’ laughed Pasha, ‘how many times have you stared death in the face and laughed?’

‘More than my fair share,’ Muhiddin sighed, ‘yet I fear he has caught up with me this time.’

‘It would seem so, friend,’ said Pasha sadly.

‘So, enough gloom,’ said Muhiddin. ‘Tell me how you are here.’

‘It is no secret,’ said Pasha. ‘When you were condemned, my father played on the sultan’s conscience to allow a last visit from your family. He knew that if Suleiman granted the request, your visitor would need a chaperone, and as a trusted courtier, I have come to say goodbye from my father, your dearest friend.’

‘And I appreciate it,’ said Muhiddin. ‘It will make me stronger as I sample the pleasures of Cellat Cesmesi.’

‘Cellat Cesmesi?’ asked Elmira.

‘The Fountain of the Executioner,’ explained Pasha. ‘The condemned man is allowed to drink from the fountain before he faces the block. When the deed is done, the executioner washes his sword and hands in its sacred waters.’

‘Oh,’ said Elmira, her head dropping.

Muhiddin reached out and touched her arm.

‘Elmira,’ he said, ‘don’t be sad. I have had a long and fruitful life with many adventures and as many wives. I have lost count of my descendants and have enjoyed the patronage of king and slave alike. I do not fear the blade, Elmira, there are worse ways to die and truth be told, I am looking forward to the eternal sleep it brings.’

‘But, Grandfather?’

‘Fret not, child. My bones ache, my sight has almost gone and it is a struggle to raise myself from my cot each morning. No, this is a good thing, a fitting end to a good life.’

Elmira fell quiet once more as Muhiddin turned to his friend.

‘Pasha,’ he said, ‘I have had a long time to think these last few weeks and it is indeed an act of God himself that sent you here today.’

‘Why would you say that?’ asked Pasha.

‘There are many things I have done in my life, Pasha, some of which I will take to my grave, but there are others that need sharing before it is too late.’

‘I don’t understand,’ said Pasha.

‘Are you aware of why I am here?’

‘Because you refused to reveal the location of your fortune.’

Muhiddin laughed.

‘Amongst other things, but that indeed was the deciding factor.’

‘Yet you swore in the name of God that all your treasures had been handed over to the sultan.’

‘And I did not lie, for all my worldly goods from a lifetime of privateering and service now lie in the sultan’s treasury.’

‘Then there were no falsehoods in your testimony and you do not deserve the sentence of death.’

‘Perhaps not, but there is something on my conscience that I need to share. What I am about to say is the truth before God and I cannot take it to my grave; what you do with the information is up to you.’

‘What is your burden, friend?’ asked Pasha. ‘For if I can share the load, I gladly will.’

‘Pasha,’ said Muhiddin, ‘I did indeed surrender my treasures as was my duty, but what I did not volunteer were the fortunes of my uncle, Kemal Reis.’

Pasha’s jaw dropped as the implications sank in and the silence was eventually breached by Elmira.

‘I think I have heard of Kemal Reis,’ she said. ‘Wasn’t he a pirate?’

‘He lived before your time, Elmira,’ said Pasha, ‘and did indeed start life as a pirate. He even took your grandfather here under his wing for many years, teaching him the ways of the sea. The sultan spent a fortune hunting him down but Kemal was such a brilliant seaman and warrior that he eluded the best the sultan could send. Eventually Kemal was offered a complete pardon on condition he commanded the navy and was tasked with protecting the kingdom. Kemal accepted the charge and spent the rest of his life becoming the scourge of the sultan’s enemies throughout the empire, sending thousands of souls to hell, both on land and sea. Yet it is rumoured that he never lost his love of privateering and throughout his life he amassed a fortune in treasure from conquered fleets, dwarfing even the sultan’s treasury, and hid it somewhere around the Aegean. Unfortunately, he took his secret to his watery grave when his ship was sunk by a storm. Nobody alive knows where that treasure is hidden or even if it exists.’

He turned slowly to face Muhiddin. ‘Do they?’

Muhiddin sighed deeply.

‘This is my burden,’ he said. ‘The treasures of Kemal Reis do indeed exist, a hoard so large that it would be a crime against God himself if it was never to be seen again.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Before he left on his last fateful voyage, he visited me in my quarters. I had not seen him for many years and he brought me a gift.’

‘What sort of gift?’

‘A map the like of which I had never seen before.’

‘And it showed the location of his treasure?’

‘It did, but it described a place so strange that I feared he had lost his mind during the many years he spent in that Portuguese dungeon.’

‘And why did he decide to tell you his secret?’

‘He told me that he had had a vision from God and that he would not return from the journey on which he was about to embark. He wanted me to have the chart and that if he did not return in my lifetime, I was to publish the details in a biography of his life.’

‘Do you still have this chart?’

‘No, it was on a poor quality parchment and he had drawn it up in haste.’

‘So what happened to it?’

‘When it became apparent the document was fading, I took steps to place the details on something that would last through the ages, a map made of gazelle skin.’

‘And where is this map?’

‘I gave it to the sultan’s father many years ago. I have not seen it since.’

‘I do not understand,’ said Elmira, ‘why give the map to the sultan?’

‘Where better to hide something than under the noses of those who would seek it out? The palace is the safest place in the kingdom and no man would dare take anything from within its walls.’

‘But surely he would seek the treasures himself?’

‘If he knew the message within the map, perhaps, but to the untrained eye it is like any other.’

‘But why wouldn’t he see?’

‘Because I encrypted the details. To those without the key, the map seems like any other, but there are instructions inscribed upon it that explain how to read its secrets. Only I know the key to unlock it and I do not want to die with the knowledge untold.’

A noise came from the corridor and they recognised the sound of the guard stamping down the corridor.

‘Your time is up, arse wiper,’ shouted the guard. ‘The admiral has an appointment with a blade.’

‘Quickly,’ said Pasha, ‘move away, he must not suspect we know each other.’

They all stood up and Pasha took his place beside the door, as if he were guarding the couple. Muhiddin beckoned Elmira closer.

‘Elmira,’ he said, ‘what I am about to tell you, you must remember. Without this, the map is useless.’ He leaned forward and whispered something in her ear. ‘Is that clear?’ he asked.

‘I think so,’ she said, ‘but it makes no sense.’

The door burst open and the guard came storming in.

‘Say your goodbyes, woman,’ shouted the guard, ‘the next time you see his face it will be atop a pike in the market square.’

Elmira threw her hands around the old man’s neck.

‘I will always remember you, Grandfather,’ she whispered and kissed him on his cheek.

‘And I will look down on you with love, child,’ he answered.

Elmira hugged the old man for the last time before being ordered out by the guard. Outside the guard house, Pasha and Elmira walked back toward the gate.

‘I have to return to the palace,’ said Pasha. ‘You go home, but when the time is easier, I will contact you again.’

‘About the map?’

‘About the map,’ confirmed Pasha. ‘In the meantime, do not forget that key, Elmira, it has the power to make us both very rich.’

Chapter 2

London 2011

The taxi pulled in at the side of the road and the driver reached up to turn off the meter.

‘Seventeen quid please, luv,’ he said and the female passenger passed a twenty-pound note through the aperture at the base of the dividing screen.

‘Keep the change,’ she said and waited for the internal clunk of the automatic lock to disengage before opening the door and getting out. She pulled her coat closer to keep out the drizzle and walked up the street to the coffee shop on the corner.

The Coffee House, said the sign above the door as she walked in, pleasantly surprised at the welcoming warmth inside. A quiet murmur circulated around the shop from the few people sat at the tables but one man in particular sat alone at the main coffee bar. Though his back was towards her, she recognised him immediately and walked up to look over his shoulder.

‘Hello, Brandon,’ she said, smiling as the man jumped up to greet her.

‘India,’ he said, kissing her on both cheeks, ‘you made it!’

‘I took the afternoon off, they owe me some time.’

‘Great,’ he said. ‘I’ll take your coat and you grab a table. Coffee and cake do you?’

‘Lovely, carrot cake, please.’

‘No problem,’ said Brandon and smiled at the girl behind the counter.

‘Did you catch that?’

‘I’ll bring it over,’ said the girl.

Brandon joined India at the table in the bay window.

‘So, how is life in library world?’

‘Oh, you know, same old, same old,’ she said. ‘How about you? Is the detective business OK?’

‘Good,’ he said, ‘though not as exciting as I’d hoped.’

‘Making a living though?’

‘Oh yes, plenty of money, but a bit boring.’

‘Well, what did you expect after last time?’ asked India. ‘I suppose it would have to be something special to follow the last little escapade. Cases involving secret societies, murders and ancient artefacts don’t come along every day.’

‘No, I don’t suppose they do,’ said Brandon. He took a sip of coffee before continuing. ‘You know, I was really disappointed you didn’t take me up on that offer to be a partner, you never did call.’

‘I know,’ said India. ‘I did think about it, honestly. It’s just that as far back as I can remember, my life has always been ordered and predictable, and as much as Mortuus Virgo excited me, the thought of a life of murders, guns and secrets just seemed too big a leap.’

‘It’s OK,’ said Brandon, ‘no need to explain, it’s not everyone’s cup of tea I suppose, but something has come up and I thought you might be interested. Got a bit of history about it, it seems.’

‘Hence the phone call?’ asked India.

‘Hence the phone call,’ confirmed Brandon.

‘So, what’s it all about?’ asked India.

Brandon reached inside his jacket and pulled out a folded piece of paper, sliding it across the table toward India.

‘Read that,’ he said. ‘It’s a copy of an e-mail I received last month.’

India unfolded the paper and read the message aloud.

Dear Mr Walker, I hope you are well.

I expect after our last little run-in I am the last person you thought you would hear from. Nevertheless, I am contacting you due to the extraordinary success you had uncovering Mortuus Virgo. After my unsuccessful attempts, I have to admit that your tenacity and resourcefulness left me somewhat impressed. Consequently, I have a situation that may interest you. I cannot go into detail over the internet as there are dangerous people involved but suffice to say, it involves something that has value untold and may appeal to you and your partner’s particular skills. If you are interested, I would like to welcome you and India to my house on Samothrace so I can explain in detail. Hope to hear from you soon.

Warmest regards.

B Gatilusi

‘Gatilusi,’ she said in astonishment. ‘The bloody nerve of the man.’

‘That was my first reaction,’ said Brandon, ‘though I suppose he did help us out back in the convent.’

‘He also killed Murray, don’t forget.’

‘I know, that’s why I didn’t pay much attention, not until yesterday.’

‘What happened yesterday?’ asked India.

‘I had a phone call on my private number. The guy on the other end was foreign and he warned me off.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Basically told me to stay away from Gatilusi or suffer the consequences.’

‘Is that all?’

‘Yup!’

‘But Gatilusi hasn’t told you anything.’

‘I know that and you know that, but apparently the guy on the phone assumed I was well informed.’

‘Of what?’

‘I have no idea,’ said Brandon, ‘so I phoned him.’

‘You did what?’ asked India.

‘I phoned Gatilusi,’ said Brandon. ‘I got his number from the Samothrace police and gave him a call.’

‘And what did he say?’

‘Nothing, he wasn’t available. In fact, the officer I spoke to demanded to know who I was and why was I asking so many questions.’

‘I still don’t see what that has got to do with us,’ said India.

‘Perhaps nothing,’ said Brandon, ‘but I am very curious to find out what’s going on, aren’t you?’

‘Not really, it’s all something of nothing.’

‘Don’t you think it’s intriguing?’

‘Why?’

‘I receive a mysterious e-mail, hinting at some ancient secret. Then I get a death threat warning me off and finally, the person asking for my help can’t be contacted. You have to admit, it’s not exactly run of the mill.’

‘I suppose not, but it’s none of our business.’

‘It could be.’

India stared at Brandon before shaking her head.

‘You’re not seriously considering taking this on are you?’

‘Why not?’

‘Because it’s dangerous, that’s why.’

‘India, the man contacted us, nobody else, you and me. He was involved in something that he thought we could help with and now he seems to have disappeared. If there is anything we can do to help the police investigation then it is our duty to do whatever we can. Besides, don’t forget that despite the current circumstances, he helped us get out of that convent alive.’

‘I suppose so,’ India sighed. ‘What are you proposing?’

‘Look, all I am suggesting is that we go out there for a couple of days